


When Shadows Fill the Sky (You Know It’s Time to Rise)

by MYuzuki



Series: Between the Light and the Dark [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Adoptive Siblings, Brotherly Bonding, Brothers, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23247706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MYuzuki/pseuds/MYuzuki
Summary: It’s been six months since the League of Assassins tried (and failed) to kidnap Damian. In that time, Jason has returned to the vigilante scene, and Damian himself has finally joined the family tradition of fighting crime.There’s just one little issue: he’s doing it as Robin. And while Tim technically agreed to passing on the sidekick mantle despite the intermittently antagonistic relationship he has with his youngest adoptive brother, he’s not as okay with it as he’s led the others to believe.Things only escalate when a breakout at Blackgate Penitentiary forces the two of them to work together since the rest of their flock is otherwise occupied.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Damian Wayne
Series: Between the Light and the Dark [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1115850
Comments: 48
Kudos: 331
Collections: Tales from the Cave





	1. When the night begins to fall (When you hear the siren call)

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was written for Batfam Content Week 2020, for Day #5 specifically (the prompt I chose was ‘Bonding During a Mission’). It’s also technically the third entry in the Between the Light and the Dark series (which is a canon-divergence AU), taking place about six months after the conclusion of Won’t Stay in the Shadows Now. That being said, you’re welcome to consider this an AU of an AU if you were happy with where we left off in WSitSN, where Tim was still Robin and Jason was grudgingly accepting of that while Damian wasn’t involved in the vigilante lifestyle. 
> 
> *Also, my most heartfelt apologies for being so late posting this. I work grocery retail, so the day when I should have posted this was coincidentally a day I spent very busy at work because of the pandemic and everyone wanting to stock up on groceries; I think my shift that day was over ten hours long and most of my days since then have been about the same, so yeah. That being said, I hope you’re all doing well and keeping yourselves safe and healthy during this tumultuous time. And I hope this fic can give you some enjoyment as well.*

A loud, blaring alarm goes off shortly after four in the morning, and despite having only gotten about three and a half hours of sleep Tim jerks awake and flails for his phone to see what the hell is going on that necessitates the Bat-equivalent of a DEFCON 2 alert.

 _Breakout at Blackgate Penitentiary_ flashes across his screen in bold letters before another obnoxious siren sound emanates from his phone speakers.

Tim curses under his breath and stumbles out of bed, instincts and muscle memory carrying him through the halls of Wayne Manor and down into the Batcave before his groggy sleep-deprived mind can conjure up a more coherent line of thinking than _Oh, shit_.

His typical brand of bad luck means he crashes into Damian once he's there, and the two of them exchange vaguely hostile looks before sitting down together in front of the Batcomputer.

Tim types in his credentials and wastes no time in firing off a quick message to Barbara.

Her response comes barely thirty seconds later, and Tim can't hold in another muttered swearword as he reads it. "Alright, it looks like some of the heavy hitters for the Falcones escaped, along with hired guns with Triad connections. Seven thugs altogether." Another ping signals another message, and the contents make Tim want to smack his head against the console. "Ernie Chubb and Rupert Thorne are on the loose now, too," he adds with a groan.

"I am not familiar with those names," Damian admits after a moment, his tone somewhere between indignant and sulky.

"I don't know much about either of them, but my understanding is that Chubb used to be a pro-wrestler or something. Thorne, meanwhile, is sort of a cross between a gangster and a smuggler." Tim drags a hand through his hair and huffs out an aggravated sigh. "The timing of this totally sucks," he grumbles, because Dick has absconded with Jason to San Francisco (something might have been said about meeting up with old friends from their Titans days, but Tim had been on his fifth Red Bull of the day during that conversation so it's all a bit fuzzy now), Steph and Cass are off doing their own thing in Bludhaven this week, and Bruce is in Metropolis helping Superman break up some sort of kryptonite smuggling operation.

Which leaves just Tim and Damian.

Damian, who has been running around dressed as Robin for the last four months, after spending weeks upon endless weeks demanding to be included in the family's vigilante activities.

Ostensibly it's with Tim's blessing, but in reality it's more that Bruce and Dick had suggested it and Tim hadn't wanted to start a fight with them by disagreeing. Especially not since Damian's complaints about feeling left out had started to make the entire family increasingly tense.

He regrets it more than a little, not putting up more of a resistance (there's a dark knot of what might be resentment in his chest that he's been very deliberately ignoring), but it's too late to take it back now; Red Robin doesn't feel like him yet, not in the way Robin had, but he's working on it. All things being equal, he supposes that things could be worse.

That being said, he's so not looking forward to having to work alongside Damian out on the streets; thus far they've mostly avoided outright brawls with each other by mostly patrolling different parts of the city. That's not going to be an option today; to quell the chaos that inevitably follows a Blackgate breakout, they're going to need to work together.

They'll have Oracle as tech support, of course, and perhaps even Alfred if they wake him up but even so Tim kind of wishes he could just go back upstairs and crawl right back into bed.

The desire, Tim must admit, comes not so much from having to deal with a jailbreak as it does from having to deal with a jailbreak _together with Damian_. Because while they get along marginally better than they did when Damian first arrived in Gotham, they're not what anyone would call amicable; Tim would step in front of a killing bullet for Damian and knows the kid would likely do the same because they're _brothers_ , but that doesn't mean they're _friends_.

Sometimes, on a good day, they get along like they had on that day half a year ago, when they'd been laughing with their older brothers before dropping off Damian at school. But something's gone slightly sour during the last few months, and Tim doesn't know if it's because of the Robin thing, or because Tim's going through a rough patch in life, or just because they're such different people.

(God, he wishes Jason was here. Jay understands Damian the best out of all of them and, perhaps more importantly, would probably actually be successful in convincing Damian to stay home and let more experienced vigilantes handle things.

But Jason's across the country right now, with Dick and Roy and Kori and who knows who else. Even if Tim were to to call him right this very minute, he wouldn't be able to make it back to Gotham for another two hours at least.

Tim's going to have to handle this himself. Handle this, _and_ handle Damian.)

"I don't suppose there's any chance of you staying home while I go out to handle things," Tim says now, knowing it's an exercise in futility but needing to at least say it. Besides, who knows? Maybe Damian will surprise him and not try to rush headlong into the fray for once in his life.

"Don't be ridiculous," Damian scoffs, shooting down Tim's faint hopes before they can even really form. "You cannot subdue nine dangerous criminals on your own."

That pricks at Tim's pride more than a little because he very much _can_ , thank you very much. He's perfectly competent in a fight, and just as capable of kicking ass as his brothers.

Just maybe…not right now, when he's running on that peculiar mixture too little sleep and not quite enough adrenaline.

(Especially not after the week he's had, juggling vigilante duties and schoolwork as well as the more personal problem of how to deal with his paternal uncle who's suddenly decided that he's "interested in Tim's life" now that his father's life insurance is finally going to pay out (legal red tape had kept the money tied up for almost two years, to the point that Tim had honestly given up on ever actually seeing a dime of it).

He'd spent the entirety of yesterday alternating between working on the final essay for his AP Psychology class and exchanging heated phone calls with his uncle's lawyers, reminding them of the fact that 1) Jack Drake had not listed his brother Owen as a beneficiary and 2) continuing to insist otherwise was not going to change a single goddamn thing. He'd finally crashed into bed, hoping to get a few hours of shut-eye, only to be woken by the alert for the prison escape.)

He is, as much as he hates to admit it, probably not well-rested enough to take on seven highly trained thugs, one murderous ex-wrestler, and one smuggler/gangster. Because Damian might be barely eleven, but he's still got assassin training at his disposal, plus Bruce's training on top of it now that he's finally (somewhat) on board with Damian being a vigilante. Which means that whether Tim likes it or not, he needs Damian to back him up for this mission.

(The part of his brain that sounds like his father points out that taking an eleven year old boy out to fight hardened criminals is irresponsible in the extreme, but since Tim himself was hurtling across rooftops at twelve he's inclined to ignore that, too.)

"Alright," Tim says at last, resigning himself to what is inevitably going to become a No Good Very Bad Day. "Go wake up Alfred and tell him what's going on, then suit up. We can use my bike for transport and Oracle can keep us apprised of any new developments as we go."

Damian starts to nod, already heading for the stairs, and then pauses to scowl at Tim over his shoulder. "I am more than capable of driving myself," he says, his tone just short of petulant as he gestures to one of the smaller motorcycles parked in the garage area of the Batcave.

Tim is so not in the mood for this conversation; he hasn't had nearly enough caffeine or sleep to deal with one of Damian's I-am-mature-beyond-my-years arguments. "Damian, you are _eleven years old_. I don't care how many driving lessons you've done with Bruce and Dick in the driveway, there is no force on this earth that will make me let you get behind the wheel. Understand?"

Damian's scowl intensifies. "But I-"

"Nope," Tim interjects, cutting off the tirade before it can begin. "Not happening. You can stick with me or you can stay behind. There is literally no third option here."

(Well, technically, Damian could just steal a bike but Tim's hardly going to point that out; no use in giving the kid ideas, after all. He gets into enough trouble already.)

When Damian's mulish expression doesn't waver, though, Tim heaves a sigh. "Look," he says exasperatedly, "if I let you drive and God forbid something goes wrong, Jason will carve out my liver and feed it to me, okay? So do me a favor and just ride with me, please?"

(Of course, if something were to ever happen to Damian, Tim would be just as torn up as the rest of his family , but he's not about to _tell_ the brat that.)

Damian's expression does something complicated where half a dozen different emotions flicker across his face before finally settling in an expression of sullen acceptance. "Very well," he says brusquely, before turning away. "I will inform Alfred of the situation and return shortly," he calls over his shoulder, and then he's gone, disappearing up the stairs.

Tim stares after him for a moment, and then drags a hand down his face with a groan. "This is going to be a long damn day," he mutters, aggrieved and worried in equal measure.

But there's no use complaining when there's work to be done, so he heads for where his Red Robin uniform is hanging up across the Cave. He squashes down the twisting feeling in his gut that surfaces whenever he looks at it, ignores the burn of resentment in his veins as he slips into red and black instead of red, yellow, and green.

"Okay," he says once Damian has returned and gotten suited up, with Alfred coming in and sitting down in front of the Batcomputer (and looking almost offensively put together for someone who's just gotten dragged out of bed by a cantankerous eleven year old at four on the morning, but Tim figures that that's just Alfred). "Let's get this show on the road, shall we?"


	2. Chapter 2

By the time seven o'clock rolls around, Tim and Damian have succeeded in neutralizing the majority of the escaped hit-men as well as Thorne, who had talked a big game but been subdued so easily by a well-placed stun gun to the ribs that it was almost laughable. Really, if Tim wasn't tired enough to be on the verge of passing out from exhaustion, he'd have laughed himself sick at the asshole's expense.

As it is now, he just really wants to find Ernie Chubb and the last two thugs (one a Triad hit-man and the other a former enforcer for the Falcone family) so he can drag his sorry sleep-deprived carcass home and go back to bed.

"Come on, Drake, keep up," Damian is saying now, his tone one of complaint as he scrambles up a nearby fire escape towards the roof. "We still have three criminals to apprehend. There's no time to waste."

"No names on the streets," Tim says automatically, parroting Bruce without meaning to even as he grimaces at how apparently the tenuous truce between them has backslid slightly if Damian's regressed back to calling him by his surname. "Also, stop being in such a rush," he chastises, because even as badly as he wants to get home he knows that charging ahead recklessly isn't the right approach for a situation like this. "If one of these guys gets the drop on us-"

Damian clicks his tongue in clear annoyance. "Oh, please," he says scathingly as they reach the rooftop. "No third-rate thug could possibly hope to take me down, not with the extensive training I've received. "

"Robin," Tim says through gritted teeth, "you are _eleven_. Besides," he adds, noticing the outraged expression on Damian's face (he looks a bit like an offended kitten, although Tim's not suicidal enough to actually _say_ that to his baby brother), "no matter how experienced you are at fighting, underestimating your opponents is always a mistake." Tim had learned that himself the hard way; he thinks every member of their family has, at one time or another.

Tim's about to say more (perhaps something about how if Damian gets himself injured then Jason will flip his shit once he returns to Gotham, because if there's anyone the new Robin respects and adores unconditionally it's the Red Hood, so maybe if Tim invokes Jason's name it'll encourage the kid to slow his roll a little bit), but then his phone chimes to alert him of an incoming message and he forces himself to shift gears and drag his mental focus back to the mission itself. "Oracle tracked Chubb using the CCTV footage," he tells Damian when his brother comes to hover at his elbow and peer at his phone. "His last known location isn't far from here; three block east, down y that new brewery that opened up last month."

"The one that's a front for one of Cobblepot's smuggling operations?"

"That's the one," Tim confirms with a nod, then sucks in a breath as the sudden movement sends a jolt of pain lancing through his skull. _Oh, you've got to be kidding me_ , he thinks, aggravated. _A migraine, now? Really?_

(He consoles himself with the knowledge that it's just the beginnings of a migraine, and not a full-blown one. Not yet, at least. Which means that there's a small chance that he can finish the mission and make it back home before he really starts to suffer.

The odds aren't really in his favor, statistically speaking, but since when it that a new development?)

Damian frowns at him, something that might be concern bleeding into his expression. "What's wrong?"

Tim takes another slow, careful breath, and very deliberately shuffles his pain off to the dark corner of his mind where he stuffs unpleasant things. "Nothing, " he replies. "Seriously, it's nothing," he repeats firmly when Damian's only response is a skeptical look. "Come on, let's go find Chubb. The sooner we finish up with this mess, the better."

Damian makes a sound akin to an unhappy cat but relents. "As you wish," he says curtly, and proceeds to vault from the edge of the rooftop so dramatically that it nearly gives Tim a heart attack. The brat deploys his grapple a moment later and he's tumbling across the next building over before Tim can do more than mutter obscenities under his breath, even as a reluctant sort of amusement curls around his heart.

 _Such a brat_ , he thinks, but it's with the exasperated fondness of an older sibling. It's not an emotion he'd thought to ever experience himself, not before Damian had come crashing into his life, dragged along in Jason's wake as they fled from the League of Assassins. As the only child of Jack and Janet Drake, he'd found the idea of siblings strange and foreign before being adopted by Bruce.

(Truth be told, there are still some days where it feels exceptionally weird to be part of a family that's bigger than just him, his father, and the memory of his mother. It's…nice, for the most part, to have people who consider him worth their time. But even now, when his father's been dead for almost two years, there are still days when it feels surreal.)

Now, he's both a younger brother and an older brother.

Shaking his head at the strangeness of it all (not that he actually regrets any of it, except of course his father's murder at the hands of Captain Boomerang), he shoots off his grapple and follows after Damian.

They find Chubb about twenty minutes later, lurking in an alleyway behind the Emperor Brewery.

They have the element of surprise on their side but unfortunately for them Chubb has both a height and weight advantage over both of them.

Not to mention the sheer muscle mass the man possesses, which is a sharp contrast to their sleeker speed-oriented builds; somehow Tim had failed to factor in how much strength a former wrestler would have.

 _So much for my spiel about not underestimating people_ , he thinks wryly, after Chubb manages to get through his defense and execute a Biel throw that sends him sailing through the air to crash down onto his back several feet away.

He's just started to clamber to his feet when Chubb grabs Damian by his cape and flings him across the alley to slam into Tim.

They crash to the ground in a heap of tangled, flailing limbs, and Tim regrets _everything_.

"Your elbow is in my ribs," Damian growls, squirming as he tries to disentangle himself.

"Yeah, well, your _foot_ is in my _face_ ," Tim snaps back, shoving the offending limb away from him as he works his way free and stands back up, looking for Chubb.

The musclebound asshat in question is booking it down the alley, headed for the street, his heavy footsteps pounding on the pavement as he tries to flee.

Damian mutters something in Arabic that Tim suspects is a swearword and flings a bolas after the man; the rope wraps around his ankles, and he trips and tumbles to the ground with a shouted curse.

"Good throw," Tim says approvingly, and has to hide a smile when Damian gives a pleased little grin before he looks away with an embarrassed scowl.

"Tt. It wasn't that difficult," he says dismissively, clearly uncertain of how to respond to praise.

It reminds Tim that for all his skill and arrogance, at his core Damian is still just an eleven year old trying to find his place in the world.

(It reminds him that as difficult as Damian's arrival is for Tim, it must be so much worse for Damian himself, who's still trying to adjust to his new life and new family. It's only been nine months since his arrival in Gotham, after all, and Tim can't even fathom how much of a shift it must be for the kid to go from the harshness of his League upbringing to the significantly different atmosphere of Wayne Manor.

And while there are certainly things about the situation that he finds aggravating, Tim's been the odd guy out before; being the outsider and the newcomer is something he's more than familiar with, so he can sympathize.)

"You did good," Tim insists firmly, because it's the truth and Damian deserves to hear it.

Damian's scowl only intensifies, but his cheeks are flushed in embarrassment and he mumbles something that might be a thank you of some sort so Tim's going to take it as a win.

"Come on," he says now, striding down the alleyway towards Chubb, who's futilely trying to unwind the bolas cord from his ankles and legs. "Let's finish up here."

In the end, Ernie Chubb flails around a bit more, trying to land a few more punches on them, but it's a hopeless effort on his part; they have him fully trussed up and gagged in under ten minutes, and waste no time to dropping him off at the closest police precinct for processing.

"Well, there's that taken care of," Tim says, rubbing the back of his neck tiredly as they take a breather on the roof of a nearby diner. "With any luck, they'll have him transported back to Blackgate in a few hours."

"We should not celebrate our successes just yet," Damian argues, although the impact of his scowl is lessened somewhat by the yawn he stifles mid-sentence. "We still have those two remaining hit-men to capture."

A groan escapes Tim's mouth before he can stop it. "Ugh," is all he can manage to say at first, then finally scrapes together enough coherency to form actual words. "Just for once I'd like for the actual police to be capable of running down some escaped thugs," he grumbles. "I mean, really. Is it too much to ask for that they do at least some of the work? We already got seven out of nine for them!"

Damian gives him a strange look. "Are you sure you're feeling well?"

Tim heaves a sigh. "Yes. No." He shakes his head in frustration and then grimaces when the motion aggravates his low-grade migraine. "I'm tired and I have a headache, but I'll be fine." His phone chooses this specific moment to start ringing. He glances at the caller ID, curses under his breath when he sees his uncle's name on the display, and clicks Ignore without a second thought. "Let's just hurry up and find our last two fugitives, okay? Then we can go home and pretend the last five hours never happened."

Damian answer surprises him. "I don't want to pretend it didn't happen," he says, his voice so quiet that Tim almost doesn't hear him.

"What?" Tim turns to look at him with a confused frown. "What are you talking about?"

"I don't want to pretend it didn't happen," Damian repeats firmly, and then follows it up with, "It wasn't entirely terrible. Working together with you, I mean. It was…" He trails off with an embarrassed scowl. "It wasn't terrible," he says again, crossing his arms defensively.

Tim just sort of stares at him for a minute, because _what is happening_. He can't be sure, of course, but he strongly suspects that 'it wasn't terrible working with you' is Damian-speak for 'I enjoyed fighting alongside you', and that is just…not what Tim was expecting at all.

In fact, he's so flabbergasted by this sudden development that it takes him a few moments to scramble his last few functioning brain cells into action to form a response. Finally, though he manages to unhinge his jaw and force some words out. "It wasn't terrible," he echoes, a faint smile curling up the corners of his mouth. "We seem to work pretty well together. When we're not trying to tear out each other's throats," he adds with a low chuckle, leaning forward to wrap an arm around Damian's shoulders in a loose embrace.

Damian squirms a bit, but doesn't shove Tim away and that speaks volumes as to what he's too embarrassed to say. "We should get going," he grumbles after a moment. "Those two fugitives could have gotten pretty far away by now."

Tim hums noncommittally as he releases Damian and ruffles his hair. "It's possible," he acknowledges. "But both of them have long histories in Gotham, so I doubt they're going to leave city limits. And even if they tried, there are roadblocks on all the bridges. Besides," he adds with a grin as h taps his earpiece. "we have one advantage that they don't: Oracle on speed-dial." He taps a tiny button to open up the comms channel. "Red Robin to Oracle. Do you copy?"

There's a moment of silence follow by a second of static, and then, "Oracle here. What do you need?"

"Robin and I are just about done cleaning up the Blackgate breakout mess," Tim tells her, "but we've still got two escapees unaccounted for. I was hoping you'd be able to work your magic and point us in the right direction? Because as much as I love running around in circles, I'm starting to feel a little worn out and I'd like to wrap this us sooner rather than later."

"Copy that," Barbara responds. "Let me scour the CCTV footage one more tine and I'll see what I can come up with."

"Thanks," he says. "Maybe focus the search on known Triad territories as well as businesses run by the Falcone family," he suggests. "These guys must be as tired as we are by now; they're going to want to go to ground on familiar turf."

"Good idea," Oracle says approvingly, then, "Alright, I've gotten a search algorithm up and running, but it'll take a little while to narrow the possibilities down. Why don't you guys take a breather, maybe go grab a bite to eat or something; I'll contact you when I have a solid lead."

"Grab a bite to eat?" Damian echoes incredulously. "Dressed like _this_?" He flares his bright cape for emphasis.

Tim's inclined to agree with the kid's disbelief, but he's seen Steph and Cass chowing down on burgers and milkshakes during patrol too many times to really doubt the validity of Barbara's suggestion. "Sure, why not?" he says with a shrug. "Let's go."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay on the final chapter, folks! I've had it more or less finished for a couple days, but didn't have time to do the final edits until today because work is, uh. Totally nuts, haha. Anyway, enjoy!

**Chapter 3**

Tim and Damian end up stopping at Spoiler's favorite diner, where the employees don't so much as bat an eye when Red Robin and Robin ask for a jumbo order of curly fries and two milkshakes to go.

"This is surprisingly satisfying," Damian says a short while later when they're perched on a nearby roof, sucking on his straw with more enthusiasm than Tim would have expected. "I've never had a milkshake before," he adds in a quieter voice.

Tim blinks, and then huffs out a little sigh. "I can't believe you've been living here all this time and Jason's never gotten you a milkshake," he grumbles goodnaturedly, reaching out to ruffle Damian's hair before grabbing another handful of curly fries. "We'll need to make up for lost time," he adds with a smile. "From here on out, we'll get you a milkshake every week. Deal?"

Damian gives a little sniff. "I suppose that's not a terrible idea," he says, and while his tone is noncommittal Tim can see the little smile quirking up one corner of his mouth. "Deal."

 _I guess this kid's not so bad_ , Tim thinks, and he has to admit that there's some reluctant fondness creeping in. And while the resentment he's been feeling in the last couple weeks isn't gone entirely (complicated emotions are rarely resolved in a single day, after all), it's faded to barely-there background noise in his mind.

Besides, it's hardly Damian's fault in the first place. Bruce and Dick had been the ones to suggest the kid taking up the mantle of Robin, and Tim had been the one to go along with it despite his hangups about it.

And he has to admit, too, that at seventeen he's gone just about as far as he can as Robin; it's not that he's _outgrown_ it precisely, but even he can't argue the fact that Robin is a role suited to someone a litlte bit younger. It's time for him to figure out who he wants to be as a vigilante, separate from Robin.

Tim's about to say something else to Damian when suddenly his phone goes off again, the ringtone blaring out just loudly enough to trigger a low throbbing sensation at the back of his skull. He grits his teeth, takes a moment to retrieve the last two ibuprofen from his utility belt and swallow them down with a generous sip of milkshake (because if he's going to have a conversation with his ass of an uncle, he _absolutely_ needs painkillers to keep his head from exploding), and then turns his attention to his phone.

"This should only take a couple minutes," he tells Damian, although honestly he has no idea how long dealing with his uncle will take; he consoles himself with the knowledge that at least he can hang up on the man if things get really out of hand.

Damian scowls at him, but it's more of a worried frown than an irritated frown and he doesn't say anything so Tim takes that as acceptance and answers the call.

"Timothy Drake speaking," he says curtly, injecting as much frost into his tone as he can muster.

"Timmy, I'm glad I finally got through to you," Owen says, his voice full to bursting with fake geniality. "It's me, your Uncle Owen."

Tim doesn't immediately respond, letting the silence stretch just long enough to be uncomfortable before he speaks again. "What do you want?"

Owen gives a nervous laugh. "What, a man can't just call his favorite nephew to say hello?"

Tim decides to not waste time pointing out that he's Owen's _only_ nephew, meaning that he's not really the man's favorite anything. "Not when that very same uncle is waging a legal battle to take away my inheritance, no," he says instead.

"Come on, Timmy, let's be reasonable about this," Owen cajoles. "You've already got the entirety of your father's estate _and_ controlling interest in Drake Industries. What use do you have for the life insurance payout on top of that, hm?"

Tim takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. "Whether I have a use for it or not is really not the point," he says through gritted teeth. "The point is that I'm listed on the policy as my father's sole beneficiary." Well, his stepmother Dana Winters (Dana Winters-Drake, technically) is listed as a beneficiary as well, but Tim's had a hard time getting in touch with her since her move to Bludhaven and he's not about to give Owen someone else to harass.

(Last he'd heard she had checked herself into a clinic of some sort because she was having trouble managing the grief and psychological shock Jack Drake's death had caused for her; part of Tim wants to reach out to her and make sure she's okay, but he's worried that seeing him might just make things worse for her so he's held off on tracking her down for the time-being.

After all, when it comes to dealing with the life insurance policy, that's what his team of lawyers is for; they can find her and deposit the money into her account without Tim needing to speak to Dana in person and dredge up all sorts of painful memories.)

Of course, none of that is anything Owen needs to know (or deserves to know, since he's been conspicuously absent from their lives until now, not even bothering to call or visit for as long as Tim can remember) so Tim moves immediately to his next speaking point. "You are not listed as a beneficiary, Uncle Owen. And harassing me is not going to change that. If you have any further concerns," he says now, talking right over his uncle's angry sputtering, "I strongly suggest that you talk to my legal team; they'll be more than happy to explain the facts of the situation to you." _For the thousandth time_ , he doesn't add, but the words are right there on the tip of his tongue. "Goodbye, Uncle Owen," he says instead, and hangs up.

His uncle, being a persistent asshole of the worst variety, immediately calls back.

Tim clicks first to ignore the call, then taps at his screen a couple more times to block the number entirely.

His uncle's primary lawyer calls next, and Tim grimaces before blocking that number as well; he's so far past the point of wanting to talk about this that it's not even funny. Hell, if his uncle wasn't such an opportunistic douchebag he'd be tempted to throw a chunk of the life insurance money at him just to get him to shut the hell up and go away.

But despite how easily he'd given in to Bruce and Dick about letting Damian become Robin, it's actually not in Tim's nature to capitulate so easily; he's stubborn by nature and that same tenacity that had him tailing after Batman as a child armed with nothing more than a camera leaves him unable to give his greedy and opportunistic uncle the satisfaction of receiving even a single cent of his father's life insurance.

He doesn't need or even want that money, but it's the principle of the thing; he's not going to back down. Not about this.

A handful of curly fries being shoved in front of his face drags him abruptly from his thoughts and he jerks back in surprise before slanting a perplexed look over at Damian.

"The food is growing cold," Damian says by way of explanation, almost defensive about it. "You should finish your half of the meal."

Tim gives a shaky huff of laughter and accepts the fries with as much good grace as he can muster given the circumstances. "Thanks," he mumbles, shoving them into his mouth so he can pretend that the lump in his throat is from dry-swallowing the food rather than the tears of frustration he's stubbornly keeping at bay.

Damian just clicks his tongue in response, gaze fixed with laser-sharp focus on the milkshake in his hands. "Your uncle does not seem like a good man," he says after a long stretch of silence.

Tim shrugs one shoulder in an attempt at nonchalance. "He's a greedy, opportunistic asshole," he says, "so no, not the greatest guy around." He doesn't miss the look Damian shoots him, concern buried underneath a facade of indifference (although the mask of indifference would be more convincing if Damian wasn't still such a pre-adolescent babyface, all wide eyes and round cheeks, but the intent it clear enough), so Tim tacks on, "It's nothing I can't handle, so don't worry about it. He just gets under my skin, that's all."

Damian gives a hum of acknowledgement, but doesn't seem entirely convinced. Whatever his real thoughts on the matter, however, he lets the subject drop, for which Tim is unspeakably grateful. He spends enough of his time lately thinking about his ass of an uncle and how to make him go away; he doesn't want Owen's odious presence ot intrude upon his vigilante hours as well. Being Red Robin and cleaning up the streets of Gotham is one of the only clear-cut things Tim has in his life right now, one of the few activities that feels unambiguously _right_ to him. He doesn't want an otherwise good night out ruined by his uncle's unrelenting greed.

Because sure, being Red Robin instead of Robin is a sore point, but when he looks at the situation logically he can see that it's in the way that a strained muscle is sore; it'll heal, with time. Someday, he'll wear the Red Robin uniform without a hint of regret or bitterness. Someday, he'll look back on all of this wonder why he got so worked up about it. Until then, he just needs to keep moving forward, just the same as he always has.

And stopping criminals, helping people? That's what keeps him going out, night after night, even when life insists on piling more and more bullshit onto his already full plate. As long as he knows that he's doing some sort of good out here, nothing else matters. Not Owen, not the disputed-to-death life insurance payout, not the truly horrifying amount of schoolwork he has piling up, nothing.

He's going something good, something that matters. He can't let himself lose sight of that.

In any case, by the time he and Damian ar done with their late-night snack Barbara's managed to figure out the locations of their remaining two fugitives.

Without needing to waste time canvassing the city and investigating flimsy leads, apprehending the thugs happens quickly and (other than the requisite scuffles) without incident.

"Good job tonight," he tells Damian later, once they're back safe in the Batcave ad changing out of their uniforms. "I couldn't have done it without you."

Damian ducks his head, and embarrassed flush creeping across his cheeks as he gives a jerky nod. "I'm glad I was able to assist you," he mumbles, then surprises Tim by lunging forward to give him a tight hug before he turns away and all but bolts up the stairs, hollering a belated "Good night" over his shoulder just before he vanishes.

Tim stands there gaping for what feels like a small eternity, half convinced that entire thing was just some sort of hallucination, before he snaps out of it and drags himself upstairs to his bedroom.

 _I guess being a big brother isn't so bad_ , is the last thought he has as he tumbles into bed and sleep claims him.

(It's a sentiment he wholeheartedly reiterates three days later, when his uncle Owen leaves a frantic voice-mail with his answering service saying that he'll never bother Tim about the life insurance money ever again as long as Tim promises to -in Owen's own words- "call off the ninja hell-child who's been terrorizing me day and night."

"He threatened to disembowel me and leave my intestines in the sun for vultures to feast on," Owen wails, his words from the message barely intelligible from the force of his hysteria. "I can't take it anymore, you win, _just make it stop_."

Tim takes Damian out for milkshakes to celebrate, and laughs at the smugly satisfied expression on his little brother's face when he explains why.

 _Not so bad being a brother at all_ , he thinks.)


End file.
